I was raised in the Southern Baptist church from about the age of five until my early teenage years. My parents didn’t attend church, ostensibly because my mother was raised Baptist and my father was raised Methodist (his father was a preacher), and each refused to attend the other’s church. Who would have thought this constituted a “mixed marriage”? So as a compromise obviously engineered by my mother, she took me to her sister’s Baptist church. My mom dropped me off and picked me up, and I sat with my aunt and cousins in “big church” after Sunday School was over. I attended Vacation Bible School and summer camp at Falls Creek during the summer months, and was generally the very model of a “good little girl.”
After my early fundamentalist indoctrination, I became more independent and refused to go to church anymore. Instead, I absorbed some of the “alternative” practices of media kings such as the Beatles and got into meditation, yoga and the like, until perhaps the age of 16. This was also a period where I suffered bouts of depression and (maybe not so coincidentally) delved into arts, crafts and writing poetry in a huge way. Think of all the stories of the “tortured artists” like Vincent van Gogh or Edgar Allan Poe, and I don’t think it’s accidental that depression and artistic expression go hand in hand more often than not.
During my last two years of high school, my boyfriend and I attended the youth group at the Methodist church, and I sang in the youth choir. Our attendance was much more of a social outlet than to fulfill a spiritual void – it got us out of the house and allowed us to spend time together in a parent-sanctioned setting. In fact, during our senior year we both finished our school days at lunchtime and spent most afternoons at the church rec room, shooting pool with the associate pastor (who was also the youth group director). The early release from school was supposed to be a way to allow seniors to work, but no one ever policed that policy, so we were free to spend our time elsewhere. I still don’t know how I finessed my parents into permitting all that extra, unstructured time, but I certainly appreciated it.
After many years away from church in any form, I decided I would like to sing in a choir again, so I joined a big Baptist church that had a 100+ member choir. I was recently divorced at that time, and this was again more of a social move than a hunger for religion. It was a good time, though, and I met a friend there who is still one of my best friends today. I also met and married a dedicated Baptist guy from the singles group who was one of those people who would, if possible, be in a church pew any time the doors were open. We continued to go there for several years, until two things happened that changed my view of organized religion dramatically.
The first thing that turned me off was a budget meeting I attended at the church. They had a $1.4 million annual budget, and when I saw that only $15,000 of that amount went for missions (which seemed like a very worthy cause), while the preacher drove a Mercedes and lived in a $250,000 house, I was appalled. And when I pointed out that paltry amount and asked others in the meeting if it bothered them, no one said a word – they just hung their heads in silence. Not ONE WORD from anyone. I couldn’t believe the hypocrisy, and quit attending soon after. This naturally became a somewhat contentious issue between my husband and me, as he continued to attend. Our differing approaches to religion was one small, understated part of our breakup some years later.
The second thing that happened a few years later was a college class I took on non-Western religion. I learned about the major religions of the world and saw that the beliefs, or at least the principles, of many religions coincided on several points. They may call God by different names (Jehovah, Allah) or fragment the concept of the Creator into many different gods according to different aspects they rule over (Hinduism or ancient Egyptian gods – even Christians espouse the Trinity of Father, Son and Holy Spirit), but most religions have some points of convergence.
More and more often these days, I think of religion as a man-made construct, a story we tell ourselves in an attempt to make sense of something that’s too big for us to really comprehend. I think that may be the reason that so many religions around the world and across the millennia have so many common elements in them. Different religions tell the story in a way that makes sense in their society, to convey the major concepts to the general population in a way they can understand. I could probably make a spreadsheet illustrating the commonalities, but you get the idea.
Some people may object to this viewpoint, and they are welcome to do so. I’m not belittling or negating anyone’s religion by calling it a “story we tell ourselves.” Societies do that to explain big, awe-inspiring things, like stars and lightening and storms and snow. So why not also tell stories to explain the hugeness of creation and the afterlife? The stories are neither good nor bad – they’re just a way to make sense of things.
I don’t attend church these days at all – I’ve always carried my beliefs within my heart and spirit, and don’t feel the need to be in church to have faith. My beliefs are a mix of my fundamentalist roots, with a goodly dose of Buddhist gentility and tolerance mixed in. In fact, I had an acquaintance say to me some years ago, “You have Buddhist written all over you.” My present view of spiritual matters is very much a live-and-let-live approach – whatever path to spiritual enlightenment you may choose is perfectly all right with me, as long as the basic tenets include some version of the Golden Rule (“do unto others as you would have them do unto you”) and are based in love and kindness to others, rather than punishing or damning to hell those who have different beliefs. That’s the bare bones of what I believe – love and kindness rule!
As far as the afterlife goes, I definitely believe there is one, but the thought of heaven as portrayed in most Christian religions seems very far-fetched. How boring to just hang out on the puffy clouds for eternity! I’d much rather have a purpose than do nothing.
My view of life after death is more like stepping through a door into an “enhanced” reality. The picture in my mind is like a caterpillar emerging as a butterfly. It’s the same creature, but transformed to such a degree that it’s virtually unrecognizable by its former self. A movie that captured my attention with its view of the afterlife is “What Dreams May Come.” In it, colors are super-colors, everything is vibrant, and “heaven” is pretty much whatever we make of it, according to our desires.
We are basically energetic life forms, and I believe that energy constitutes our “soul” which continues to live and evolve after physical death. Our essence continues to exist, just on a different energetic plane that’s invisible to human senses, for the most part. I say “for the most part” because I suspect that much of the paranormal phenomena we hear about (ghosts, hauntings, EVPs, “bumps in the night” or other odd occurrences) may be due to the overlap of the physical and (for lack of a better word) spiritual planes that are intermittently perceived by sensitive individuals who we may call “psychics.”
I think we will be students of more advanced souls who will teach us lessons they have learned, as well as being teachers ourselves to those who are not as advanced. I think we’ll have “jobs” there, just as we have in this life – I just think they’ll be different types of jobs, dealing with the advancement of our spiritual life instead of just “earning a living.”
I think each one of us is on an evolutionary course working toward a higher level of consciousness, and part of the lessons we learn are taught through repeated lifetimes on earth. You’ve heard some people referred to as “old souls” – I think those are the more highly evolved among us here. Those people stand out as a force for good among the billions of us on the planet and radiate a vibe that is unmistakable – it’s almost palpable, and their radiance draws others to them. People such as Jesus, Ghandi, Mother Teresa, Buddha and others come to mind in this category.
As for death – I can’t say that I’m looking forward to the process of dying, however that happens (unless I die in my sleep and just wake up on the other side). I certainly don’t relish the thought of illness or pain or any of the myriad unpleasant ways a person can die. But aside from that, I have to say that I’m looking forward with a slowly increasing feeling of anticipation to see what’s next. I’m forever curious and impatient, and I doubt that will stop when I take my final breath in this life!
Tags: metaphysics, navel-gazing, religion
